


you did a number on me (but honestly, baby, who's counting?)

by theheadgirl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Bookshelf sex, Chair Sex, Desk Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, sex everywhere basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-07 12:08:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19209133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theheadgirl/pseuds/theheadgirl
Summary: One late night at the Ministry, Percy forgets a date. Oliver decides to make sure that it doesn't happen again.





	you did a number on me (but honestly, baby, who's counting?)

His quill is running out of ink. Without looking away from the parchment, he dips the quill into the inkwell and hears the tip clink softly against the bottom. He brings the quill back and starts writing again - only to find that the ink level is still the same.

“What the -?” Frowning, Percy picks up the inkwell and sighs heavily when he sees it's empty. If he'd noticed when it still had some ink in it, he could have refilled it magically, but the incantation won't work on an empty bottle. “Damn.”

He glances up at the clock on the wall. Six forty-five. Something about the time sets off an alarm in his head, but he shakes it away. He just needs a break, and more ink.

He opens the door to his office and sees that one of the desks in the antechamber is still occupied.

“Why are you still here, Miss Pennington?”

Maeve glances up at him. “I could ask you the same, Mr. Weasley.”

Percy acknowledges the validity of her point and goes to the supply cabinet, pulling another two vials of black ink. “I'm going to the commissary for some tea. Would you like anything?”

“I'd love one too,” Maeve replies. “Whatever you're having. Thanks.”

Percy steps into his office to drop off the ink and goes out into the hallway to go to the commissary. His head is still spinning with words and figures and that quiet, persistent feeling that he's forgotten something. Was it something in the paperwork? Did he forget a sentence and his brain is trying to tell him that before he passes it on to Minister Shacklebolt? He bets it was in the section with the new regulations on the importation of potion ingredients. His eyes had started to glaze over about six times trying to keep all of them straight.

“Two cups of Earl Grey, thanks.”

“Milk?”

Percy realizes, belatedly, that he doesn't know how Maeve takes her tea. “Ah. Milk, sugar, and lemon on the side, please.”

The house-elf presents him with a tray with two cups, a small pot of tea, and an array of tiny accompaniments. Percy pays the one Galleon, six Sickles and gathers up the tray, head sinking back into the maze of legislation as he returns to the Minister's support staff area.

“Here, Miss Pennington. I didn't know how you took your tea so I brought everything.”

“Thanks. Very thoughtful.” She flashes him a smile as she takes the milk. “For future reference, it's usually milk and two sugars.”

“I can't guarantee I'll remember that.” He drops a sugar into his tea and squeezes one of the lemon wedges into it.

“I'm surprised I remember my own name. There's so much to get through.”

Percy nods. “I'm going to get back to it. Let me know when you're leaving, please?”

“Of course.” She nods to the tray. “Leave it out here. I'll drop it by the commissary when I leave.”

“Thanks.” Percy picks up his tea and carefully brings it back into his office, closing the door behind him. Time to review that section on potions again.

 

A door slams outside. Percy starts up and checks the clock. 8:15. Who in the world is slamming doors around the Ministry at a quarter after eight at night?

His mind flashes to figures in silver masks, a skull with a snake spilling out of its mouth, and he's scrambling around his desk as quickly as he can, pulling his wand out of its holster on his arm.

“Oi! You can't just barge in here!” Maeve says, and she sounds more irritated than scared.

“I've got a bloody visitor’s badge, haven't I?” the other person replies, and Percy feels his terror melt away into confusion as he recognizes Oliver Wood's voice. He opens the door to his office, wand still drawn, and Oliver glares at him.

“Maeve, what's the badge say the purpose of this visit is?”

Maeve leans in to get a better look at it. “It says ‘arse-kicking.’”

“Yeah, it does, because I'm here to kick someone's arse,” Oliver says, and he wheels on Percy, storming into the office. Percy barely steps out of the way in time, and closes the door behind the Quidditcher.

“Oliver, what in Merlin's name are you doing here? It's gone eight fifteen.”

“You wanna explain why you stood me up?” Oliver snaps in return, and something snaps into place in Percy's memory.

“Oh, shit -” He goes around behind his desk and digs his planner out of his briefcase … and there it is, under Wednesday the eighth. Dinner with Oliver, 6:30, the Rose and Crown. _That_ explained the nagging feeling he'd forgotten something. It hadn't been the sentence in the section on potions after all. He looks up. “Merlin's beard, Oliver, I'm sorry; I got caught up in work here and lost track of time.”

Oliver deflates slightly at the apology, though his hackles are clearly still near the ceiling. “I waited for an hour and a half for you. The waitress kept asking ‘oh, you still waiting on that other person?’ Clearly thought I was just there to take up a table and drink a beer on my own, which I  _wasn't_ , because I'm considerate, unlike  _some_ people.”

Percy's temper flares. “I said I was sorry! What can I do now?”

That was clearly the sentence Oliver had been waiting for. He jerks his head to the door.

“Tell her I'm sticking around to make sure you go home, then close the door.”

“Why?”

“You should have thought about that before you stood me up. Now do it.”

Percy goes to the door and pushes it open. Maeve pauses in putting her things in her bag, eyebrows raised slightly.

“Everything okay, Mr. Weasley?”

“Fine, thank you. My very rude guest is going to be staying to make sure I finish up soon. Are you going home now?”

“It seemed like as good a time as any.”

“Good night, Maeve!” Oliver calls from behind him.

“Good night, Oliver!” She turns back to Percy. “See you tomorrow, Mr. Weasley.”

“See you tomorrow, Miss Pennington.” He doesn't miss the smirk on her face as he closes the door, and he thinks about how tomorrow, the entire first floor is going to hear about how the Minister's junior assistant had a screaming row with his partner last night. Great.

“Fine, I've done what you -” Percy cuts himself off abruptly as he turns, startled into silence. Oliver is _right there_ , barely an inch between them. His eyes are dark, almost a little feral. Something shifts, pleasurably, low in Percy's stomach.

“I've done what you asked,” Percy finishes, his voice dropping slightly. “What next?”

“Sit down in the chair,” Oliver says. He's close enough that Percy could easily close the distance and kiss him, but he holds himself back. If he's making this up to Oliver, that means playing by the Quidditcher's rules - even the ones that mean they don't get to kiss, even if Percy wants to. And with the look on Oliver's face and the heat radiating off of him, Percy _really_ wants to.

He licks his dry lips and slips from between Oliver and the door, going to his chair, where he sits.

“What now?”

Oliver steps over, leaning against the desk, arms crossed over his chest. The sleeves of his shirt strain slightly around his biceps. His eyes rake over Percy, and he shifts under the intense scrutiny.

“How many layers are you wearing?”

Jacket, waistcoat, shirt, vest. “Four.”

“Take them off. Then put your shirt back on. Don't button it.”

That's unusual.

“Can I stand?”

Oliver nods, and Percy obliges, shrugging out of the suit jacket and draping it across the top of his desk. He unbuttons the waistcoat and discards it, then reaches for the knot of his tie.

“Slower,” Oliver murmurs.

There's heat in his eyes, and Percy hesitates, then curls his fingers around the knot of his tie and slowly slides it down to untie it.

“Much better.”

Percy glances at the door, hoping that Maeve has gone home by now, and slips the tie out from under his collar. He stands for a moment, the length of dark green silk in one hand, and then sets it down on top of his jacket and waistcoat. His fingers move to the top button of his shirt, and he pops each one open with careful deliberation. Oliver's eyes don't leave him, his gaze seeming to grow more intense as each button separates.

Percy has to look away to undo his cufflinks, small checkerboards of onyx and mother-of-pearl, and he stows them in the inside pocket of his jacket. He has an idea of what Oliver's up to, and he doesn't want to run the risk of losing or damaging them in the heat of the moment. With the cufflinks gone, he slides out of his shirt, keeping it slow.

Finally, he's down to his vest, and he untucks it, then runs his fingers along the edge of it. His hand slips up along his chest, then behind his neck to grab the fabric of the vest to pull it up and off.

Shirtless, flushed, Percy looks at Oliver. The Quidditcher is looking back at him, and the look of desire scrawled across his face is enough to make Percy blush a little deeper. Oliver shifts against the desk, pressing his arms more tightly along his chest, and Percy realizes that he's having as much difficulty not touching Percy as Percy is in not touching Oliver.

“Well?” Oliver's voice is almost unrecognizable. He coughs to clear his throat. “Shirt.”

“Right.” Percy reaches for his shirt and puts it back on, tugging to adjust it so it sits properly.

“Good.” Oliver pushes away from the desk and closes the distance between them. Percy is suddenly reminded that although he's a couple of inches taller than Oliver, Oliver easily has sixty pounds on him, and it's all muscle.

“Here's the thing, Perce,” Oliver continues. There's barely any light between them, and Percy can feel the heat of Oliver's breath against his cheek. “You forgot about me. I don't like that. You know you're  _mine_ , right?”

His fingers curl into the collar of Percy's shirt and yank him closer, emphasizing his claim.

Percy, suddenly a little short of breath, can only nod in response. Everything in him is focused on the nearness and heat of Oliver's body, and he's finding it hard to keep his mind on track.

“To make sure it never happens again, I'm gonna make sure you can't look anywhere in this damn office without thinking of how good you got fucked here.” His voice drops. “On the desk. In the chair. Against the bookshelves. Wherever you are, you're gonna think of me.”

Finally, he presses their lips together in a searing, hard kiss. The fingers of one hand tangle into Percy's curls, and the other takes hold of his wrist and directs it to the bulge in Oliver's jeans. Percy obediently begins to rub his hand against it, and Oliver lets out a soft, pleased sound that's almost a growl. Oliver's tongue presses against Percy’s lips, and he parts them to let it in. Each brush of tongue against tongue is a hot spark of arousal down his spine, and Percy rubs Oliver’s erection more firmly to keep from grinding against him himself.

Mouths still firmly pressed together, Oliver pushes Percy down into the chair, and it rolls back an inch or so. He breaks the kiss and fumbles for his wand.

" _Arresto momentum._ " The chair stops moving. Without another word, Oliver drops to his knees in front of Percy and undoes the button and zip of his trousers. He looks up at the redhead and carefully maneuvers his hard cock out of the layers of underwear and trousers. His skin is warm around the sensitive skin of Percy's erection, and the sensation is enough to make him gasp.

Slowly, Oliver bends down and presses a kiss to the skin of Percy's stomach, and it tickles, so he squirms. Oliver makes a soft huff of laughter, then kisses again, lower down, and again, just on his hip bone.

Suddenly, it doesn't feel nearly as ticklish.

Although he knows it's coming, it's still a surprise when Oliver's mouth drops around his cock, surrounding it in heat and moisture. Percy sucks in a breath between clenched teeth, hands clenched around the arms of the chair. Oliver presses a hand to his hip as a reminder to stay still, and he begins to bob up and down. His free hand wraps around what he can't take in, pumping in concert with his sucking.

Although he's never been loud by any stretch of the imagination, Percy is still relieved Maeve went home already. He imagines her hearing even the whimpers and gasps he’s letting out, and -

\- and that made his cock twitch, just a little. Huh. That's something to unpack later.

To better focus on Oliver, Percy closes his eyes and tips his head against the back of the chair. Unthinkingly, one hand goes to curl into Oliver's hair, and he feels it move under it in an unmistakable shake. Slowly, excruciatingly, Oliver slides off and says, "Hands on the arms, Perce, until I say otherwise."

Percy makes a sound he'll deny to the death is a whimper, and moves his hands back to the arms of the chair. He clutches them so tightly it hurts a little, but he'd rather the small pain than the risk of Oliver stopping again.

"Much better."

With a soft, pleased noise, Oliver returns to his work, and Percy lets himself sink into it. He loses track of time - all he's concerned with is the feel of Oliver's mouth and tongue and hand, and the heat slowly building up in his belly -

Oliver pulls back. Percy's eyes shoot open and he whines, a wordless demand for explanation.

"We're not done yet," Oliver says. He gets to his feet and jerks his head back to indicate the desk. “Move whatever needs to be moved,” he orders. “Then bend over it.”

_Everything_ needs to be moved. He can’t get any sort of bodily fluids on any of his paperwork! A little disoriented still, Percy gets up, sorts through it quickly to keep it in some kind of order, and pushes it as far to the side as he can. He checks the top of the desk to ensure it's reasonably out of his way, then bends over the desk and takes a hold of the far edge of it. The unquestionable sensuality and submissiveness of the position makes him flush hot, which isn’t helped when Oliver presses himself against his back and slides his hands along Percy’s hips.

“Shoes,” Oliver breathes against Percy’s ear, and Percy feels a shiver run through his whole body.

“I need to untie them,” Percy says, and Oliver grudgingly backs away long enough for Percy to untie and slide off his shoes. Oliver gestures to his trousers, and Percy drops them as well, then returns to his original position.

Calloused fingers move along Percy’s sides, and he resists the urge to shift away from the touch, even though it tickles slightly. The fingers hook into the waistband of his boxers and he inhales softly at the feel of Oliver’s hands against his bare skin. Slowly, Oliver slides them off of him, and they drop to the ground with hardly a sound.

Oliver shifts behind him, then he feels the tip of something small and hard against the small of his back.

“ _Lubricio_.”

Despite himself, and how many times he's had the spell placed on him, and how many times he’s placed it on Oliver, Percy still lets out a strangled gasp of surprise, his hips jerking at the strange sensation of being stretched and lubricated in one magical swoop.

"Stay still." Oliver goes quiet behind him and Percy hears the soft sound of a zipper unzipping, then cloth shifting around. He doesn't think Oliver would fuss at him for turning to look, but with the mood he's in, he might, so Percy lets himself sit in the anticipation of it instead. "Ready?"

Percy nods, and Oliver takes a firm hold of his hips, grinding himself against the curve of Percy's rear, and he's so hard it takes the redhead's breath away. Then he shifts, adjusts, and pushes himself slowly but surely inside.

Percy inhales sharply, his fingers tightening against the edge of the desk so his knuckles turn white. Oliver gives him just a moment to adjust to the sensation, then starts moving.

They move together, the slap of flesh against flesh and Oliver's moans the only sound, and, already aching and worked up, Percy peels a hand off of the edge of the desk to take a hold of himself, desperate to release some of the tension building up.

"Oi! What're you doing?"

Percy freezes, hand in mid-air, fingers curled like he's about to grasp himself.

"Because I know you’re not about to touch yourself when I haven't told you that you can yet," Oliver continues. "Not when I said - " he punctuates the word with a sharp thrust of his hips - "I was going to fuck you all over this office, and we haven't made it off the desk yet."

"Oliver," he says, voice trembling slightly, "please - "

"Much as I love to hear you beg, mate," Oliver says, "not yet. Hands on the desk."

Feeling highly disgruntled, Percy puts his hands back on the desk, though he's still aching and hot and he _wants_.

Once he's sure Percy is behaving, Oliver resumes, picking up a steady pace. He moans aloud, and despite himself, Percy imagines Maeve out there, hearing it. His cock twitches again, and he pushes himself against Oliver, grinding himself down onto his cock.

"Shit," Oliver groans, and he speeds up his thrusts, causing the redhead to let out an audible gasp.

Then, once again, he stops.

"Ol!" It comes out a little whinier than Percy would have liked.

"All over the office, Perce," Oliver reminds him. Percy is smugly pleased to hear that his breathing is labored, and it sounds a bit like he's gritting his teeth. "And I'm having you against all those boring law books."

"They're not boring," Percy retorts. "Wizarding law is actually a _fascinating_ area, especially when you consider -"

He's cut off by Oliver's large hand clapping over his mouth, and he shuts up, a shiver going down his spine. Gently, Oliver pulls him closer, Percy's back against his chest, the hard line of his erection pressing up against the redhead's ass.

"The only thing I'm interested in right now," he whispers, "is fucking you until you can't walk right tomorrow. Understood?"

Percy swallows hard, suddenly very aware of the thin barrier of his shirt between them, and the heat of Oliver's body against his. His heart, already pounding from earlier, seems to beat a little harder.

"Understood?" Oliver repeats.

Percy nods, and Oliver presses a kiss to the side of his neck.

"Good. Now get up against those _wildly interesting_ law books of yours."

He drops his hand from Percy's mouth, and Percy takes a moment to pull his wand from his discarded clothes, casting a quick, non-verbal Imperturbable charm on the books. Being fucked against the bookshelf is one thing, and actually damaging some of the old and valuable books with sweat or a particularly enthusiastic movement is quite another. That done, he sets his wand back down and goes to the bookshelf.

"Front or back?"

"Front."

Always one to follow instructions, Percy leans against the bookshelf, glancing up to meet Oliver's eyes.

The sight before him, frankly, takes his breath away. The look on Oliver's face is _ravenous_. Must be the shirt. He's never seen Oliver look like he could actually, literally, eat him alive before.

In two long strides, Oliver crosses the room and slides a hand along Percy's thigh, hiking his leg around Oliver's waist.

"Okay?" he murmurs. Percy nods. He'll probably curse his lack of flexibility tomorrow, when his hips and knees ache, but it's fine for right now.

"Good." He takes his cock in his hand and teases the head against Percy's entrance, making the redhead whine softly. Slowly, slowly, he pushes in, and with his free hand, he cups the back of Percy's head, bringing their faces close together. For a moment, they just look at each other, hazel to blue, then Oliver pulls him in for a heated, wanting kiss, slipping all the way inside. Percy lets out a little whimper against Oliver's mouth, grinding himself against his erection. Something twinges in his thigh, but he ignores it for now. There's much more interesting things to focus on.

Oliver tries to move slowly, tries to draw the experience out, but they're both so worked up on their third go-round that he's not able to keep that slow, steady pace. He grabs Percy's ass with one hand, pulling him closer, and Percy feels like his skin is on fire.

"Not yet," Oliver murmurs into the kiss. Percy whines. He's so hard it hurts, but he knows that as soon as he gets to touch himself, he'll be gone. Knowing that, and knowing that Oliver is trying to make this last a little longer, doesn't make it any easier.

The pace gradually speeds up, harder, losing any resemblance to a regular rhythm. Percy clings to Oliver, kissing him desperately to keep himself quiet as well as stifle Oliver. Just because Maeve's gone doesn't mean that the maintenance staff is - and they gossip, too.

"Oliver, _please_ ," Percy finally breaks the kiss to gasp out. "I can't - I need, please, let me -"

Oliver goes quiet for a long moment, and Percy feels a tightness in his chest. He couldn't possibly - he wouldn't dare say no -

"All right," he says finally.

Shifting around, Percy grabs a hold of his aching cock and starts stroking himself roughly. He tips his head back, closing his eyes to focus on the feeling of Oliver inside of him and his own hand. Oliver bends, shifting the angle, and kisses his pulse point. Then he drops kisses along the curve of Percy's neck before pushing aside the collar of his shirt and biting down at the junction of neck and shoulder, hard.

"Oh _fuck_!"

He's gone, spilling uncontrollably over his hand and Oliver's chest, thrusting more out of sheer instinct than out of any conscious decision.

"Merlin, I love to watch you when you come," Oliver says, voice close to a growl, and his speed increases, harder, until he lets out a loud moan and spills inside of Percy.

He slides out of the redhead, and Percy, shivering, slowly lowers his leg. His hip twinges, but he welcomes the ache.

"Now what are you going to think of whenever you look around this office?" Oliver asks.

"I'm going to remember the time I had to prioritize which of my paperwork I could least afford to get semen on," Percy replies, and Oliver laughs.

"And?"

"And you."

"You're damn right."

Percy leans down to kiss him, slow, gentle, warm. They pull apart and he fetches his wand, casting a couple of quick spells to clean up. They gather their clothes and get dressed.

"Ready to go home?" Oliver asks.

Percy finishes re-tying his tie. "Can we stop somewhere for takeaway? I'm hungry."

"You should have thought of that before you stood me up. That pub has the best pot pies."

Percy rolls his eyes and holds his hand out. "Let's go."

 

_Two months later._

Oliver winces as the hot water hits his shoulders, slowly releasing some of the aches from practice. Merlin, but Pierce had run them into the ground. Oliver had caught so many Quaffles from so many different angles that he was pretty sure he'd dream about it tonight.

(Not that that was wildly different from most nights.)

He hears footsteps elsewhere in the locker room, but dismisses them. Probably Rhys or Davin, coming back to grab something.

The footsteps continue, echoing off the tile in the showering area. Oliver squints against the water and reaches for his shampoo. He takes the bottle and pops the top open, turning away from the spray, then freezes in place.

He's not alone.

Percy stands just inside the shower curtain in his shirtsleeves and tie. He's barefoot, though he's not quite to the wet area of the tile.

"Forget about something?" he asks.

"Oh, Perce," Oliver gasps. "The film with Ginny and Harry - that was _tonight_ , I thought it was Friday -"

"Ginny understood, she said she gets caught up at Harpies practice all the time," Percy says. "I'm afraid I'm a little less understanding than my sister, though." He takes a step closer, water droplets catching on his hair.

“So … I’m going to be taught a lesson, is that it?” He shouldn’t sound so happy about it.

Percy smirks. It’s unquestionably wicked - and a little dangerous. It sends a flash of heat down Oliver's spine, and in his current state, it's impossible to miss the effect it has on him.

“Yes,” he says. He reaches out, fingers curling around Oliver’s wrist, tightening just a little - not enough to hurt, just enough to make a point. “After all, you know you’re _mine_ , don’t you?”

**Author's Note:**

> That was fun! I've been busy writing other stuff but what a delight to get back to my OTP. As usual, I don't own them and I'm just playing in the sandbox.


End file.
